


A Season of Miracles

by Calacious, Kittycrackers (Calacious)



Category: General Hospital
Genre: Angst, Christmas Fluff, Drama, Gen, Gift Fic, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-02
Updated: 2011-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-15 04:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4592736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Kittycrackers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He next woke in a mildly comfortable hospital bed, an IV attached to his arm, the sound of music, soft and comforting,  coming from a radio in the nurse's station:  "Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright…sleep in heavenly peace."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So, This is Christmas?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suerum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suerum/gifts).



> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction featuring original characters and characters from the TV show, "General Hospital". There is no money being made from this and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> A/N: This story is a Christmas gift for the talented Suerum who has been quite an inspiration and a great friend to me. This story is AU and does not mesh with the storyline on "General Hospital".

"Can't this wait until after the holidays?" Spinelli had just entered the penthouse and shrugged out of his jacket. He'd had a long day and was looking forward to getting some rest.

"No, Spinelli, it can't."

Jason gave him an exasperated look. It was one he'd been giving him a lot lately. The one that communicated, _You're a moron and I am this close to getting rid of you._

Spinelli knew, or at least he thought he knew, that Stone Cold would never say those words to him. The closest that Jason had ever come to speaking those fateful words was to intimate that he should book a hotel room until after Brenda had left Port Charles and the Balkan ordeal was over.

At the moment, he was hard-pressed to understand why he hadn't simply left. In hindsight (wasn't that always twenty-twenty?) it might have been the best overall option and he wouldn't have to feel so…guilty…over meeting Carly on the side to discuss what was up with Brenda and Sonny's newest kin, Dante, the Deceptive One.

"But," Spinelli sighed, eyeing his jacket mournfully, "it's Christmas Eve."

He didn't have any special plans for this Christmas Eve, but it had always been a special day for him, along with Christmas itself. Ever since he was a child, he'd thought of it as a day which should be set aside for listening to Christmas carols and eating gingersnaps and iced sugar cookies while opening presents and sipping cinnamon-spiced apple cider.

Jason rolled his eyes. "I know that," he ground out, quickly losing his patience with the hacker. "And this can't wait until after the holidays. What do I pay you for? To question the assignments I give you or to actually do them?" His eyes darted off toward the staircase and Spinelli surmised with a single intake of breath what his roommate was on about.

The man wanted some alone time with the Fair Samantha and had concocted some lamebrain excuse to get Spinelli out of the penthouse rather than being upfront with him. Spinelli's eyes filled with tears, but he ground his teeth and steeled himself as he turned away from his mentor's duplicitous gaze. He would not allow the man's, no matter how much he revered him, lies cut him to the quick like this.

He just wished for once that Jason trusted him enough to tell him the truth – which was that he was sending him out of the penthouse on Christmas Eve so that he could be alone with the woman he loved. He understood that, hell, if he was still with Maxie, he would've wanted the same thing for himself. It just hurt that Jason could not communicate this to him without creating some elaborate ruse, as though that would spare his feelings or something.

"I see," Spinelli let out another sigh and picked up his discarded jacket, slinging his computer bag over his shoulder as he walked wearily to the door that would lead him once more out into the bitter cold winter night's air. "Don't wait up for me," he muttered beneath his breath as he pulled the door open and let it slam shut behind him. The sound echoed throughout the penthouse and the hallway.

 


	2. Lonely Christmases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, in order to save someone, you have to hurt them.

Jason watched Spinelli leave without a word, surprised with how quickly and easily the hacker had bought his story; his excuse for sending him on a fool's errand on Christmas Eve. He really didn't have a choice though.

He hoped Spinelli would see through his ruse and spend the night at the Metro Court rather than trekking out to the park and setting up surveillance, looking for anything out of the ordinary that might point to the Balkan's activities and report back to him with anything suspicious. He vaguely recalled hearing something about how unseasonably cold it was.

He couldn't get the crestfallen look on his friend's face out of his mind as he turned away from the door. It took so little to hurt the gentle hacker. His jaw twitched in anger.

_Kid's far too weak to be working for me_ , Jason thought harshly to mask his self-loathing.

_Yeah, sure he is. Kid's as breakable as a brittle reed. Must be all of your gentle handling of him that's ensured his survival among the deviant fittest_ , his conscience countermanded.

Jason blinked in puzzlement. Where the hell had that thought come from? And why the fuck did it sound so Spinelli-like?

Jason ran a shaky hand through his hair, making it spike up at odd angles. Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, he glanced up into the shadows at the top of the stairs, willing his heart to stop its slightly frantic beating. His lip curled as he bit back a curse and he slammed his fist into the wall, relishing the sting of pain and the clarity it brought him.

He stared at his still clenched fist and mused, absentmindedly, that, come morning, his knuckles would be bruised. And suddenly, that wasn't enough for him, he slammed his fist into the wall again and again until the rough skin on his knuckles gave way beneath the assault and tore. He didn't feel any pain yet, but smiled as blood, cherry-red and festive, bubbled up and leaked from the self-inflicted wound.

"Satisfied your need to execute brutality on innocuous furnishings?" Jason could hear the silky smirk in the man's voice, though he couldn't see the speaker who hid in the shadows at the top of the stairs.

Jason grunted in response.

"Nice work on getting rid of the kid, though, do you think it was wise to send him out on such a cold night?" The man's voice held a mixture of humor and chastisement.

Jason's jaw creaked with the effort it took him to hold his tongue. His gun was a mere three feet away, locked safely away in the metal box he kept hidden in his closet; it might as well have been a mile away, he'd never be able to reach it in time. Why the hell had he put it away in the first place?

He should never have sent the guards away, though Brenda was spending the holiday with Sonny, she was rather changeable and could end up back at the penthouse before the night was through. He'd decided to, in a generous spirit, give the guards the night off, thinking that he could offer all of the protection she'd need. He'd been foolish to think that Christmas Eve would offer him a reprieve in his line of work.

"You told me to get rid of him, I did." Jason would be damned if he'd explain his actions to the bastard who was holding him hostage.

"I see." The man moved from the shadows, keeping his weapon trained on Jason. "It was…efficient, I suppose, far more elaborate than what you came up with to ensure that your lover did not show up."

"Whatever," Jason snapped.

He wanted this to be over, wanted to call Spinelli and tell him to come home, that he could have a few days off to celebrate Christmas. Wanted to call Sam and let her know that he wasn't sick, that she could spend the night.

_You really blew it. You should've tipped Spinelli off. He could've gone for help_. His inner Spinelli chided.

_No!_ Jason couldn't stand the thought of putting Spinelli in harm's way. _Spinelli doesn't have the street smarts for this kind of thing. He's not subtle enough. He'd have gotten hurt, somehow_.

_Really? And how would our own personal resident genius have managed to get hurt by delivering a message for help?_

Jason narrowed his eyes and drew in a quick breath. _I don't know alright, the kid's just got a knack for landing himself in trouble._

_Oh, I see. And you thought it would be a brilliant idea to send him out, alone, to do surveillance, on his own, on one of the coldest nights of the year without so much as a hat and gloves?_ Spinelli's voice made a good point.

Jason's breath caught in his throat. Spinelli wouldn't actually follow my harebrained scheme, would he? Oh shit, he would, wouldn't he? His sense of loyalty to his dumbass mentor would demand it of him. Would demand that he do whatever was asked, no matter how crazy it seemed. _Fuck._

Jason closed his eyes and released his fist, relishing the pull of tear on his damaged knuckles. He'd just sent Spinelli out in freezing cold weather with little more than his ever-present laptop and a threadbare coat. He'd fucked up, again, and Spinelli would be made to suffer for his mistake.

He watched, with mounting anger, as his captor made himself comfortable on the pink couch. His eyes flickered to the dinky Christmas tree he and Sam had decorated the night before and Jason wanted to do nothing more than smash it against the wall and strangle the man sitting on his couch with the cord. The built-in lights blinked merrily on and off, flooding the room with red and green flickers of light which played across the wall like a Christmas kaleidoscope.

"Sit." The man patted the cushion next to him and Jason wavered between reaching for the tree, strangling his unwanted visitor with its electrical cord and sitting.

A minute gesture with the man's weapon hand convinced him that sitting would be the better option. Reluctantly, he took a seat on the couch he'd begged Brenda to ask Spinelli to get rid of not a week before this fateful night. After tonight, depending upon how things went, he'd get rid of the damn thing himself.

"We might as well make ourselves comfortable." The man leaned back into the hard cushions of the couch, motioning for Jason to do the same. "You may call me Theo." Jason knew that he was sitting with the self-proclaimed Balkan, however.

"Look," Jason refused to lean back, "I don't know what it is that you hope to accomplish here, but, like I told you, Miss Barrett's not here and she won't be returning. She left, for good." Jason pierced the man with his most fearsome look.

"Well, then, let us keep a Christmas vigil together, shall we?" The man merely smiled and Jason bit back a groan.

"You see, Christmas has always been a rather…lonely time for me." His words rang with an utter sincerity that shocked Jason, and yet, with a gun pointing at him, he couldn't be moved to feel any real sympathy for the man.

"Shall I tell you why?"

Jason shrugged, milling about in his mind for a way to get rid of the man without suffering from a gunshot wound. Strangling him with a fake Christmas tree smaller than a munchkin was not likely to work.

"Tell me, Mr. Morgan, do you have a son?" Theo continued his monologue as though he was the only one present capable of making intelligent speech, "I lost all passion for the holidays the day I lost my son. He was the world to me, and now, I have nothing but a quest to set things right for him. It is," he paused, "I guess you could say that, exacting vengeance for my son's untimely and undignified death, is my life's end. No one," his eyes glinted like steel in the flickering light, "should die, shot down like a dog in the street. He," the man choked up, much to Jason's horror, "didn't even have a proper burial."

Jason didn't know what to say. Should he attempt to console the obviously distraught man who had his gun trained on him? Would the man find that condescending?

_WWSS?_ The thought came to him unbidden and Jason's brow furrowed in confusion.

_What the hell?_ Jason was losing his mind, and this wasn't even the worst situation he'd ever faced. He wished that his conscience would stop adopting Spinelli's calm and uncharacteristically mocking voice. If he was going to be saddled with a Jiminy Cricket conscience tonight, why couldn't he sound more like Sam?

_No, you overgrown idiot, WWSS: What Would Spinelli Say? You have to admit that, for all of the 'faults' you lay at his feet, he does have a way with words. What would he do in this situation?_

_Fuck if I know._ Jason was not going to be dragged into this without a fight.

_Oh for the love of…tell the man that you're sorry. You know, for his loss. You don't have to mean it or anything. Your Jackal, though, you know he'd mean it. If he was here…_

He cleared his throat and looked sideways at his captor, Theo, just to silence the voice that had taken up, what he hoped was temporary, residence in his head. He didn't feel the slightest bit sorry for the man who'd ambushed him in his home.

"I'm…sorry." He felt stupid when the man simply stared at him, his gun still unwaveringly pointing at his chest. _Shit, looks like you steered me wrong Jiminy Spinelli._

The man's stare was beginning to make him uncomfortable and he tensed, waiting for the impact of a bullet in his chest. Just when he thought that he couldn't take any more of the silent staring, the man looked away briefly, but the gun still didn't waver in its aim and Jason steeled himself for the pain he was sure would be forthcoming.

"Thank you," the words were spoken so softly that Jason had to strain to hear them.

_Huh?_

_Told you it would work._ The voice, a knock-off of Spinelli's, spoke smugly.

_Oh, shut up!_

"I'm sure…" Jason fished for the right words, almost wishing he hadn't banished the voice just yet, "that it must be…" _what the hell would Spinelli say at a time like this?_ "hard…for you." He felt as though he'd run a marathon, his heart constricting painfully as he sought to comfort a man he had no desire to comfort.

"So, this is Christmas, and what have you done, another year over, and a new one just begun. And so this is Christmas, I hope you have fun. The near and the dear ones, the old and the young…A very merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, let's hope it's a good one, without any fear…" Theo, much to Jason's distress, sang quietly in a voice heavy with melancholy.

_What the hell?_ Jason thought.

_Sometimes singing helps ease one's hurts._ The Jackal version of Jiminy Cricket offered.

_Oookay…whatever, I just hope he doesn't do it again._

"That song's always been a favorite of mine," Thoe offered by way of explanation.

"I…see," Jason responded, though he really didn't see what this had to do with anything. What did the man hope to gain by holding him hostage? He'd told him that Brenda was gone and that she wouldn't be back. What would he have to gain in taking his life? Was he going to torture him with Christmas songs and then kill him?

"You really should call up that boy of yours," his imprisoner said, "see if he's safe."

Jason cast a furtive look at the man, wondering if there was more to his words than could be taken at face value. Had he sent men after Spinelli to take him when he left the penthouse? Was he being held hostage, or, had he been struck down by a bullet? Was Spinelli safe or had the Balkan ordered his death while sitting here singing ridiculous carols to his captive audience?

"What did you do to him?" Jason rounded on the man, unmindful of the gun being held on him.

Theo looked startled for a moment, moving forward slightly, and then cracked a wide grin, and chuckled, which made Jason growl. "Me? I've done nothing to your boy. You, on the other hand, are the one who sent him out to conduct a fake surveillance on one of the coldest Christmas Eves your city has seen in a number of years, if I'm not mistaken."

_Get a grip; he's just toying with you_ , Jason reasoned.

_Think Spinelli is over at the Metro Court enjoying a lovely dinner, maybe watching one of those black-and-white Christmas movies he's so fond of? Think he would have brushed your orders, though completely thoughtless, off so quickly as to give them no heed?_ The Spinelli impostor mused.

_Shit. Damn. Fuck. No._ Jason shook his head to clear it of the voices which threatened his very sanity.

"No?" Theo shrugged, settling back against the cushion. "Suit yourself."

"What?" Jason spoke louder than he'd intended, causing his hostage-taker to sit forward once more. "I mean," how was he going to put this? "Why do you want me to call him?" There, put it back on him. It was Jason's turn to be smug. "I mean, if you haven't made a move on him, he should be fine."

"It's just," Theo paused, giving Jason an assessing look, "it's obvious that you care a great deal for the young man, sending him on his way as you did, with the pretense that he'd be doing something useful. Boys like to feel useful, you know."

Jason did know. How often was Spinelli asking him for opportunities to help him? How often did he allow the hacker to really help when it came down to it?

"At least my Aleksander was like that," the man offered up like a truce. "I…it was hard letting him go; trusting him to the world at large, knowing that he could be hurt and that I might not always be able to be there to make things better. But," his voice hardened, "I never dreamed in a million years, fool that I am, that he'd be taken so cruelly from me."

Jason flexed his fingers, wincing at the pain in his now swollen hand. He was trying to work out how he'd be able to coax a call to Spinelli out of the other man after all.

"I gave my Aleksander something to do, let him be useful, and he ended up dying. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should've sent him on fool's errands, kept him close to the fold, not given him any leeway. Maybe we'd be spending Christmas together if I had never let him out of my sight."

_WWSS now?_ Jason wondered, halfheartedly hoping to hear his grasshopper's mocking voice. Why the hell had it fallen upon him to comfort some whack job on Christmas Eve anyway? He wished he could rewind the clock; accept Edward's invitation to dinner, stop Spinelli from leaving on the mysterious errand he'd gone on earlier, before the Balkan had invaded his home.

"Maybe you've got the right idea Morgan," Theo eyed him seriously, piercing him with his steely gaze, "keep him on a tight leash, don't let him know that you care, that way, when the inevitable happens," the man looked away, "perhaps it won't hurt as much."

"You couldn't have stopped it," Jason spoke without thinking and immediately wished he could recall his words. "What I mean is," he cleared his suddenly dry throat, "that it wasn't your fault. What happened to Aleksander wasn't your fault."

_Ha! Chalk one up for the good old Stone Cold_.

"Call your boy," Theo pressed his cellphone into Jason's hand, gesturing at him with his gun. "It might not have been a bullet from one of my weapons which killed my Aleksander, but Mr. Morgan, you're wrong, in a way, it was my fault. I brought Aleksander into this world, raised him to be the man that he was and then sent him out into the world, knowing what a cruel, cold place it could be. Call your boy. Make sure he's alright."

_Why did the man insist on calling Spinelli his boy? It was unnerving. Spinelli wasn't his boy. He had a son, yes, but he wasn't about to tell the Balkan about Jake._ Speaking a few words of comfort was one thing, but commiserating over shared fears of fatherhood was a completely different thing and Jason wasn't willing to go that far to appease his captor.

_Are you so quick to dismiss the Jackal as your 'boy'? I find the colloquialism rather heartening. It assumes familial relationships and displaces the cold ones that plague modern American society._

_Shit, where the hell did that come from? Fine, in a sense, Spinelli is my 'boy', but only in the sense that it makes him like family. You know, like a brother. I can't do this right now. Have to focus on what's real, not imaginary conversations with my inner grasshopper._

Jason's hand shook imperceptibly as he dialed the number he knew by heart. He didn't trust that speed dial would always be accurate and had memorized the numbers of those in his top ten. He waited a heartbeat for Spinelli to pick up and another.

He groaned when, instead of Spinelli's breathy hello, a silly little Christmas jingle accosted his ear: "Sleigh bells ring are you listening, in the lane snow is glistening. A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight, walking in a winter wonderland…" followed by an overly cheerful mechanical female voice: "I'm sorry your party's extension is temporarily unavailable. Please try your call again later."

He hadn't even been given the option of voice mail which meant that, either Spinelli was out of the calling zone or his phone was dead. Turning his phone off would have resulted in at least the option of voice mail, wouldn't it have?

He closed his eyes and leaned heavily against the couch as he hit redial. The same song came on while the phone tried to 'access his party'. The same irritating non-human voice asked him to try his call again later.

"No luck?" Theo frowned sympathetically and Jason wanted to punch him in the face.

Locking his jaw and shaking his head, Jason returned his phone to him.

"That's too bad." The flicker of a smile graced the man's lips. "I rather liked your boy. He seemed thoughtful. Not unlike Aleksander when he was younger."

"Nothing's wrong with Spinelli," Jason retorted, "he's just turned his phone off. I asked him to call if he saw anything unusual. He turned his phone off so that his position wasn't compromised."

It sounded perfectly reasonable to his ears and was completely logical. Someone conducting surveillance on a possibly dangerous person would want to do so covertly and a ringing phone would give away one's position and could prove to be fatal. A private detective would act stealthily and turn his cellphone off.

_Ah, actually, a world-renowned private detective would merely silence or set his cellphone on vibrate, not turn it off, you know, in case it is needed in an emergency…_

Jason's heart clenched. Spinelli would only have turned his phone off for one reason – and it wasn't the one he'd concocted for the benefit of his captor – he'd been hurt by what Jason had said and didn't want to be reached. Crap. Fuck. Damn it all to hell and back.

A knock, hollow and unwelcome, broke through the uncomfortable silence which had settled over them and sent the tension in the room skyrocketing. Jason half lurched from the couch, being jerked back to a seated position by his captor's hand.

"Not so fast."

They listened, waiting for the knocks to abate. Instead, they grew increasingly louder, demanding attention.

"Hello? Jason?"

Jason groaned, closing his eyes as he recognized the voice on the other side of the door. It was Molly. What the hell was she doing here on Christmas Eve? He hoped that she wasn't on some misguided mission to attempt to bring him and Sam together for the holidays.

"Go; get rid of the little girl." Theo waved his gun in the direction of the door, motioning for Jason to rise and answer it.

He followed Jason to the door, standing just beyond it, in the shadows, his gun trained on him. Jason opened the door slightly, careful not to open it wide enough for Molly to see into the penthouse.

"Molly," he greeted. "What can I do for you?" Jason inwardly cursed as he noticed that the girl was not alone. "Kristina." He nodded.

"We're just here to invite Mr. Spinelli over to dinner. And, um, you too, that is if you want to…Mom's on this whole family should be together for the holidays kick and I figured that with you and Sam, well, you're kind of like family and so is Mr. Spinelli," Molly smiled sweetly, dimples lighting up her face.

Jason blinked in surprise, touched by Molly's inclusion of him, and by proxy, Spinelli, as family. "Thank you, but I'm afraid that I…we'll have to decline. Spinelli's out for the evening and I'm not feeling well." Jason coughed for emphasis.

He was mildly relieved that he didn't need to lie about Spinelli's whereabouts to the youngest Davis girl. He gave her a sympathetic smile when a look of disappointment crossed her features.

Kristina patted her sister's shoulder, offering her a measure of sisterly support. "Well, maybe next time?" Her brown eyes studied Jason untrustingly. "And," she handed Jason a bulky object, "return this to Spinelli, I think he dropped it in the hallway." It was Spinelli's coat.

"Oh yeah," Molly, shaken out of her momentary descent into the doldrums, smiled slightly, "would you mind giving him this from me?" She handed Jason a blue gift bag and curtsied before grasping her sister's hand and tugging her from the door.

"He probably wants to be alone with Sam," she whispered a little too loudly to her sister as they left.

Jason shook his head, smiling slightly, wondering where Sam had secreted herself away to. Apparently she hadn't let her mother in on the news that she was not spending Christmas with him and he wondered why.

"Lovely little girls," Theo spoke the moment Jason had closed the door.

"Yeah," Jason acknowledged.

"It's a pity they can't join us for our Christmas Eve vigil. One should have children around on Christmas. Makes it special, don't you think?"

Jason nodded as he returned to the couch. He didn't like the way the man grinned at him, all teeth showing, eyes lighting up with an almost malevolent gleam.

Theo frowned minutely and reached for something in his pocket. Drawing out his cellphone, he glanced at the display and motioned for Jason to stay put as he walked away from the couch and toward the stairs, affording him a small measure of privacy in the small living room space. He kept his gun and his eyes trained on Jason as he spoke quietly into the phone.

"Éla," he barked into the phone. Jason strained his ears to hear what was being said on the other end of the line, but couldn't make out a single word of it.

"And you are certain of this?" The man's face was a mask of determination as he glanced surreptitiously at Jason. "The tests were conclusive? There is no mistaking it?" He grimaced slightly as he listened to whatever was being said on the other end of the line.

"Efharistó."

He ended the call, and Jason pretended that he hadn't been eavesdropping. Before the man could resume his seat on the couch, however, he received another call. He listened intently for a minute, Jason watching his face as it clouded over in anger.

"I thought I told you to keep track of the cargo," his words were like acid and Jason held a small amount of respect for the man. "I do not tolerate such mistakes Gregor. Find the cargo and bring it here, now. The test came back positive. All that I've been planning for these past several years is about to come to fruition. At least in part, and I will not tolerate your ineptitude hindering my plans."

Oh goody, more unwanted guests, Jason thought ruefully as the man ended the call with foreign words too softly spoken for Jason to catch.

"There a problem?" Jason feigned disinterest.

His captor merely smiled at him as he rejoined him on the couch. "Nothing to worry yourself about Mr. Morgan. Matters have been taken care of, so to speak." He gave his phone a purposeful look before tucking it back into his pocket.

Jason wanted to smack that annoying smirk off the man's face with his bloodied fist.

"Though, we shall be having some visitors shortly."

"The more the merrier," Jason muttered. He placed the gift bag Molly'd handed him for Spinelli on the coffee table, laying Spinelli's coat alongside it. "What is it that you want from me?" He asked warily, running a hand through his hair, wanting nothing more than for this night to be over.

"Since you are unable to produce the lovely Ms. Barrett for me to exact vengeance upon," a sad smile marred the man's features, "I want nothing more than your company to keep the loneliness at bay."

"And then what?" Jason snorted. "You'll pack up and leave in the morning?"

"Oh no, I fully expect to carry out my plans by the time morning arrives. Christmas is a season for miracles, is it not?"

Jason nodded, hoping for a miracle as his eyes rested on Spinelli's jacket. He hoped to God that the hacker had called his bluff and was not where he knew he would be. For once, he prayed that Spinelli had disregarded his orders, allowing what little common sense he had to dictate his actions instead of his amplified and warped sense of loyalty.

 


	3. O Tannenbaum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas trees can be deadly.

Spinelli walked brusquely down the hallway, not noticing his jacket fall to the floor as he reached the elevator. He pushed the down button impatiently, jabbing it a couple of times when it didn't immediately 'ding' its arrival.

"Well," he thought aloud when the elevator doors finally opened allowing him entrance, "guess I can at least check out this fake lead, in case it really isn't some poorly concocted booty call ruse." He ignored the strange look the sole occupant of the elevator gave him as he stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the Lobby. The elderly woman shied away from him, tucking herself into the corner furthest from him and watched him with wary eyes, clutching her carpetbag to herself with palsied hands.

Spinelli smiled apologetically and winced when she shot him a terrified look. He wondered if Stone Cold got those kinds of looks all of the time and how he handled them without feeling completely guilty. _Does Stone Cold even know what guilt is?_ Spinelli wondered bitterly.

He'd certainly had no second thoughts when sending his faithful, and he'd been nothing but faithful (his workings with Carly only proved just how deep his loyalty to Stone Cold was), servant out on some non-mission on one of the most holiest of nights. Was Stone Cold even aware of just how cold it was? _Not that it would matter if he had been,_ Spinelli thought unkindly.

On his way home, Spinelli had overheard a couple talking about how the weather forecasters had cautioned people to stay indoors, curled up nice and cozy in front of their fireplaces or TVs, and not venture out into the record-breaking cold spell which had befallen Port Charles. At the time he'd agreed with them and wanted nothing more than to return to the penthouse, take a nice hot shower and then burrow himself beneath the warm blankets of his bed and cocoon himself there until late Christmas morning. If anyone had earned the downtime, he sure as hell had.

Sighing in resignation, he waited for the elevator to descend after letting the poor old lady off on the eighth floor. She'd skirted around him, never taking her milky, cataract-afflicted eyes off of him until she was well off the elevator and into the relative safety of the hall. He laughed humorlessly at her fear of him, and wondered what Stone Cold would say to that. The man thought of him as some harmless puppy dog and treated him likewise. Apparently he was capable of invoking at least a modicum of fear, however, if that old lady's response to him were anything to judge by.

_Yeah, take that Stone Cold_. He grimaced.

_Great Spinelli, delighting yourself in giving old ladies heart attacks with how fearsome you are, you old devil you. Are you proud of yourself for scaring a little old lady?_

_Shut the hell up!_ He covered his ears with his hands to drown out his inner voice.

His conscience was getting just a little too familiar and cutting a little too close to the marrow. He rarely had these conversations with himself anymore and hated when his much more suave inner self took it upon himself ( _and isn't that an odd thought?)_ to reprimand him. It was slightly unnerving and he knew that if Stone Cold were to get wind of this little peculiarity of his grasshopper, well, it wouldn't be very pretty. He'd hate to end up with a one-way ticket to Shadybrook Sanitarium courtesy of an overly concerned ( _now isn't that a thought – ha!_ ) mentor.

The 'ding' of the elevator roused him from his inner musings and Spinelli side-stepped an impeccably dressed businessman as they both headed for the open doors at the same time. Spinelli placed his arm over the opening so that it wouldn't shut until the other man had made his way into the car and he left. The man acknowledged him with a brief nod and a tense smile. Spinelli nodded in return and let the doors close with a swish.

Reluctantly, he turned toward the glass doors leading to the outside world. It had gotten quite a bit darker since he'd last been out. The wind, now howling, was picking up newly fallen snow from the frozen sidewalks, and, as Spinelli watched, mesmerized, it circled the crystalized water about in mini-tornadic swirls.

He really did not want to go outside. Maybe he could just crash on one of the couches in the lobby and call it a night. It wasn't as though Stone Cold really needed this job done tonight, or, ever. He looked longingly at the mauve couch sitting opposite the security counter and took a step toward it.

_What Stone Cold doesn't know won't hurt him_. His steps faltered.

_Right Grasshopper, you just keep telling yourself that. What Stone Cold doesn't know about you and the Valkyrie doing a little extra research behind his back won't hurt him. Like it won't hurt the Divine One or the one formerly known as the Betrayer? Like it won't come back to bite you in the ass? Because you know that the Valkyrie won't be taking the fall for that one once it all comes out. She'll feed you to the hounds of hell herself and still have Stone Cold's stalwart friendship in the morning._

Spinelli fought the urge to clamp his hands over his ears once again. He was not going to listen to his own inner-damning version of Jiminy Cricket. He wasn't going to allow his conscience to make him walk down this particular path. He was working with the Valkyrie to protect his master, not harm him or the Divine One or the unknown innocent one or even the one he'd promised, with an actual handshake, to no longer call the Betrayer.

_What if this is a real errand?_ Spinelli hated that he vacillated on this one point. He knew, instinctively, that what Stone Cold had asked him to do was a farcical task and yet he couldn't bring himself not to follow through on it, regardless of the potential harm it could do to him.

He'd just have to be quick about it, that's all. Because, though he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that Stone Cold was sending him on a wild goose chase, he was still bound by his loyalty to the man to at least do as he was asked, misgivings aside.

He turned away from the welcoming cushions of the couch, smiling weakly at the security guard who was watching him with a mixture of mild curiosity and suspicion. Rack up yet another awe-inspiring moment for the Jackal and his ability to inspire fear in the mild-mannered and elderly, he thought tiredly as he reached for his jacket only to come up empty-handed.

_Fuck_. He shook his head and took a determined step in the direction of the double glass doors. He'd just have to go without his coat and make sure to get indoors as soon as possible.

Galvanizing himself for the task ahead, he pulled the doors open and drew in a deep breath as the wind sucker-punched him in the gut, sending snow up his nostrils, choking him briefly. He shook off the feeling of suffocation and bowed his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he jogged out into the bitter cold winter eve. He walked briskly, hoping to stave off the cold as much as possible, using every ounce of anger and adrenaline at his disposal to keep him warm.

Something caught his eye and he skittered to a stop half a block away, his loafers sliding on the icy walk. The wind nipped at his face and neck, crystalized ice stung his eyes as he was pelted with the whirling snow. He slowed down, in spite of his desire to finish his task as quickly as humanly possible, and blinked in wonder at the display of holiday lights surrounding him.

He truly had not seen them in his mad rush to get home earlier that night. And now, in his forced exile from his warm domicile, he was confronted with the holiday tradition of titivation that visited his chosen city every December. The embellishments were impressive.

The entire street was lit up with a variety of white, red, green and blue lights. Lampposts were wrapped in fake greenery, interspersed with white lights. Window fronts were adorned with strings of colorful blinking lights and gold and silver garland. Elaborate wreathes festooned the businesses he passed and festive music leaked from beneath the doors of some of the stores which boasted late holiday hours.

His heavy heart lifted a little as he was warmed by the spirit of the season. His step, no longer hindered by doubt, became livelier as he walked onward to his destination.

He hummed his own personal version of "Carol of the Bells" as he wended his way through the streets, bowing his uncovered head to the wind. His core warmth, fueled by righteous anger and a much abused dignity, had all but fled him and he now welcomed the crisp coolness of the air to help clear his thinking.

Sure, Stone Cold should have simply asked him to vacate the penthouse, his home for the past several years, for the holidays rather than sending him on some fraudulent errand, but Spinelli knew that his roommate was, if anything circumspect in his dealings with him. He treated him, in some respects, as though he were made of glass. As though, stamped somewhere on his person in indelible, undeniable ink, were the words: 'Fragile, Handle with Care.'

Spinelli snorted as he envisioned the various portions of his body upon which this stamp might be discovered. Stone Cold, though, had no doubt guessed rightly, that it was imprinted upon his heart, and yet handled this most fragile portion of his protégé with the least amount of care. This night's events, sending him out into the cold like some two-bit flunky, sealed it.

Spinelli knew now, without the slightest amount of misgivings, that Stone Cold did not care about him. He did not value him, aside from the services he could render. Spinelli was nothing more to his vaunted mentor than a means to an end. When he stopped proving to be useful, if his cyber skills were to be surpassed by another, he'd be tossed to the curb like some stray dog that'd never quite fit in with the rest of the family because it couldn't be potty-trained or wouldn't stop cringing away in fear.

Strangely, these thoughts did not sit heavily in his heart, but added fuel to the fire that burned inside of him and contrived to keep him warm in spite of the increasingly plummeting temperatures. He felt…numb…and…if he was honest with himself…angry.

Though he didn't visit that particular emotion often, especially when it concerned those he loved and valued, it was there, festering. He was angry with Stone Cold, had been angry with him for quite some time now. Honesty pricked at his conscience, needling him. Damn Jiminy Cricket and his insistence on accompanying him this evening.

_A little too late for that, don't you think?_

_Wha…? Jiminy Cricket?_

_Anger, Jackal, your misdirected anger has backfired once again. You allowed yourself to be drawn in by the Valkyrie's siren cry of misdeed perpetuated by the very hand of the Devious One and the events that followed snowballed out of your control. Who were you really angry with? Come on kid, time for real honest to goodness truth, no matter how much it hurts._ His inner voice sounded alarmingly like Stone Cold and Spinelli lifted his head, looking around, making sure that he really was on his own and had not been followed by his master.

_Come on, admit it, all of the 'anger' you expressed toward Mr. Sir's eldest son was really meant for the man you worship as a veritable hero._

"No," Spinelli spoke fiercely, shaking his head to dispel his mentor's taunting voice.

He wasn't angry with Stone Cold all that time, couldn't have been. It wouldn't have been right to be angry with the man who was willing to sacrifice his own freedom to protect the innocence of another. No, it was Dante who'd deserved all of his ire.

It had been Dante's fault that Stone Cold had chosen to go to prison and suffer for the sake of Michael. It was Dante's, not Stone Cold's fault. It was Dante's fault that he'd lost Stone Cold to Pentonville. Things hadn't been the same since he'd returned and Spinelli couldn't blame Stone Cold for that. How could he? It wasn't fair to cast the blame on his mentor.

_Isn't it? You've always done your damndest loyal best and this is how he treats you? He sends you out on one of the coldest nights in recorded history on some fucking_ , his inner voice definitely had Stone Cold's temperament, _tool's errand? It's Christmas Eve. Guess Granny was right all along, there is no rest for the wicked._

Spinelli began to sing, hoping that it would shut up the demonized voice of his personalized Jiminy Cricket.

"O Come, O Come Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear…rejoice, rejoice Emmanuel shall come to thee O Israel…"

_Even your choice in Christmas carols reflects your current state of being. Pathetic. You, the exiled apprentice, awaiting your heroic ransomer. He will not come._

Spinelli's heart sank. He knew that Stone Cold would not venture out this Christmas Eve. His mentor would assume that he'd gotten the hint and gone somewhere safe and would be holed up for the night. He fingered the cellphone tucked securely in his pocket, turning it off with the single prolonged press of a button.

Squaring his shoulders, he pursed his lips and continued onward, shaking the gathering snow off his head. He wracked his brain for other, brighter Christmas carols with which to occupy his obviously much too idle mind. Idle hands may be the Devil's tools, but an idle mind was apt to grab Lucifer's interest sure as anything. Isn't that how the proverb went? "Idle hands are the Devil's tools; an idle brain is the Devil's workshop"?

The cold was starting to get to him, but he was nearly at his bogus destination and soon he'd be able to retreat to the warm confines of the Metro Court Hotel.

"The first Noel the angel did say was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay, in fields where they lay keeping their sheep, on a cold winter's night that was so deep….Noel… Noel… Noel… Noel… born is the King of Israel…"

_That isn't going to hide the Devil from the truth. Though the Devil is in the details, isn't he? He's prodding that enormous brain of yours with a searing hot poker, shifting and ferreting out your thoughts. Not a very merciful anti-deity. The truth smarts, smokes and smolders, but that isn't quite where it lies, is it genius?_

"The snow is snowing, the wind is blowing, but I can weather the storm, what do I care how much it may storm? I've got my love to keep me warm. I can't remember a worst December; just watch those icicles form…"

_Cute._

His footsteps slowed as he came to the park.

"Hark! The Herald angels sing glory to the newborn King," Spinelli broke off his impromptu singing as he came face-to-limb with the biggest Christmas tree he'd ever seen outside of televised broadcasts of the tree at Rockefeller Center.

He looked up in wide-eyed wonder at the ornamented tree, wondering when it had been decorated. He hadn't noticed it before, but then again, Stone Cold and his own business had been keeping him inordinately busy this year, regardless of the holiday season. If he hadn't been shipped off into the night, he might never have gotten the chance to see Port Charles' ersatz version of the Big Apple's tree until after the holidays had passed, if even then.

Though smaller and not as elaborately decorated, the tree was beautifully decked out in red, gold, silver, blue and green bulbs, ribbons, and garland. White lights blinked at him from their perches within the pine boughs.

He breathed in deeply, wanting to drink in the robust, cleansing smell of pine. He coughed as the cold air, a multitude of tiny pinpricks, stung his lungs and hunched his shoulders in an effort to get the ensuing spasms under control. He gasped for breath and got a mouthful of the heady scent. It was nearly overpowering. He spit out the offending taste, his senses telling him that he'd swallowed some of the needles from the tree, though he knew he'd just gotten a giant whiff of the tree courtesy of his seizing lungs.

"Ack," he spit and sputtered, wheezing as the cold continued to constrict his lungs. He felt lightheaded and his eyes welled up with tears of pain which gave way to panic as he couldn't coax breath into his lungs. His vision swam and bright dots danced before his eyes.

"Caroling, caroling through the town, Christmas bells are ringing…" Spinelli heard the distant voice of carolers as he struggled to draw air into his freezing lungs.

_Strange_ , he thought as his vision dimmed, _'s too cold for carolers to be out tonight._

_Jackal, don't be such a wuss_ , Stone Cold Cricket groused as Spinelli fell to his knees on the snow-covered ground. New snow was falling, blanketing the tree and Spinelli's wet hair with a fresh coat of white. _C'mon, get your ass up off the ground._

"Sorry," Spinelli wheezed. His heart ached with the effort it was taking to breathe. "Can't." He pulled his hands out of his pockets, placing them on the ground next to him to help hold his body upright.

He looked down at his uncooperative legs and silently ordered them to move. He instructed his feet, numb with cold, to push up off the ground and lift him. Obstinate, they remained impassive to his commands and he sunk, falling sideways onto the ground, his head landing beneath the massive branches of the tree.

Oh no you don't! Don't you fucking quit on me. We were almost at the heart of the matter. Stone Cold Cricket sounded pissed and Spinelli closed his eyes, not wanting to go another round with the pigheaded Gryllidae.

What did it matter whether he was angry with his mentor or not? It wouldn't change his status as the man's trusty grasshopper and it sure as hell wouldn't change how Stone Cold looked at him nowadays, as little more than a nuisance he was putting up with for the sake of information. His anger, whether just or not, was a moot point.

Breathing, now that was something far more important to the grand scheme of things. Spinelli concentrated on pulling precious, pine-soaked air into his burning lungs. He knew that something was wrong, that he should move as far away from the tree as he could, but he couldn't get his arms to cooperate, they were just as useless to him as his legs had been moments ago.

His head hurt. The pounding of his heart throbbed inside his skull, reverberating against his frontal lobe with increasing intensity. Bile crept up his throat, and, terrified, he swallowed it, relishing the burning sensation as it gave him something, other than the lack of oxygen, to concentrate on for a moment. He felt it churn in his stomach and clutched at the crusted snow beneath him as a wave of nausea threatened to overpower him.

_Get your pathetic, worthless ass off the ground now!_ Stone Cold Cricket demanded. Was there a note of concern in his tinny voice? Spinelli couldn't be sure.

His eyes watered and he felt hot and itchy, but he couldn't move his arms to ease the pain of the itch. They were much too heavy. His lungs seized up and he fought hard to take in a shallow breath of air. It hurt and he was scared. He felt like he was climbing Mt. Everest without the aid of oxygen. It was foolish and he could die, but, for some reason, he couldn't stop climbing.

 


	4. A Present from Santa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santa can come in many different forms.

Gregor stopped walking abruptly and looked around for the quarry he was supposed to be tracking. He narrowed his eyes against the biting wind as he peered into the darkness. Night had dropped its black starry cloak and they had lost their charge because his partner had distracted him.

How much time had passed? Five, ten, fifteen minutes? It mattered very little, they failed in their mission, an eternity might as well have passed in the blink of an eye.

It would be next to impossible to reclaim their objective now, especially given how dark it had become in such a short amount of time. How long had his partner stood gazing in open-mouthed wonder at a ridiculous window display of the Nativity? _Just the right amount of time for them to lose our target_ , he thought angrily.

"The boss will not be happy." Gregor turned to his companion who stared back at him, a genial smile on his face.

"Couldn't be helped." Andelko shrugged. Gregor was strung tight, nerves taut and ready to snap. The kid was as loyal as they came, but didn't know how to relax and Andelko had taken it upon himself to mentor the kid whether he wanted it or not.

"You tell him that." Gregor frowned, rubbing the back of his neck with a gloved hand.

He did not want to deal with an angry Balkan. Things could get messy and deadly, he just hoped he wouldn't be on the receiving end of the man's rather considerable anger. Gregor shook his head. _Andelko is about as annoying as they come_ , the younger man thought. In spite of the fact that Andelko was at least a decade his senior he was playful, like a child, and it grated on Gregor's nerves.

He couldn't, for the life of him, understand why the Balkan had placed the two of them together. They were like oil and water.

"We were supposed to keep an eye on the 'cargo'," he growled.

"Why must you insist upon speaking in code?" Andelko grumbled, opening his arms wide to the sky, turning around boldly. "There's no one else here, see?" He gestured at the empty park. "Just us and this precious, 'cargo'. Wherever it may be," he muttered.

He hadn't meant to lose track of their quarry, but the evening was dull and he'd done what he could to liven it up. God knew that his colleague was not very chummy and bordered on downright boring. He'd pointed out the city lights as they'd passed them in a desperate attempt at keeping his mind on the business at hand rather than on how he'd rather be spending his Christmas Eve.

Gregor ground his teeth, ignoring the older man, consoling himself with the thought that he would not have to deal with him much longer. The Balkan would see to his dismissal soon, especially after his detailed report to him about how he had lost their mark due to his ogling of the city lights. Never mind that the man had been working for the Balkan for over a decade, with Gregor's testimony against him, he would be gone for good.

Andelko was not as loyal to him as he was and he relished the thought that he now had evidence of the older man's faults to take back to the Balkan. It'd be even better if something untoward had happened to their mark because of Andelko's incompetence.

The man was sloppy and crude and he'd be sure to let the Balkan know just whose mistake this had been. He was not going to take the fall for something which had been beyond his control and the fault of a stupid 'old' man. He'd been in this business far too long, a good five years now, to forfeit his life on Christmas Eve.

The voice of carolers singing nearby broke through the stillness of the night and Gregor glared at Andelko.

"You never know who could be lurking," Gregor chastised. "You lost track of our assignment, and now we have to produce something for our boss that we do not have." He pulled out his phone and began to dial, but Andelko ended the call before it could go through.

"Come now Gregor, you worry too much." Andelko patted him on the back and he shrugged it off. "We'll find the boss' precious 'cargo' before long. It is Christmas Eve, there are beautiful lights out, and it is much more festive than our native land this time of year. Live a little beyond the shadow of your 'boss'."

He recalled, with a bitter twinge of memory, a time when he too had been as focused as Gregor. He'd given all of his best in service to his employer and had lost more than he'd ever bargained. He'd lost his wife, his son and daughter.

The only thing he hadn't lost at the time had been his life and he'd foolishly committed it to serve a hard, demanding master. He wondered what had brought Gregor into this particular business and if the younger man had any hope of escape.

This was not an ideal life by any stretch of the imagination and Andelko wondered if he could get Gregor out of it before the younger man was completely lost. He was already lost, and there was no longer any hope for a better life for him.

"We have a job to do," Gregor hissed.

He'd be damned if he was going to let Andelko distract him from the task at hand. It was cold out and he was beginning to lose sensation in his toes. That didn't seem like a very good thing to him. It was snowing as well, and, in spite of his desire to see the white substance as a kid, he found it to be highly overrated. He wanted to be indoors and that couldn't happen until they'd recovered what their boss wanted.

"And I say to hell with the job. It is the night of our Savior's birth; we should be at home with family or out drinking with friends. Or do you not believe in such things?" Andelko watched Gregor peripherally, gauging the younger man's reaction to his words. He was going out on a limb here, fishing for something to work with, something with which to pull the sinking man to shore before he drowned.

"I believe in doing what I've been paid for and that work will come when it comes." Gregor punctuated his words with a serious nod.

He didn't know what Andelko was getting at and didn't like the older man's line of questioning one bit. He wasn't about to let the other man act as his conscience. They should be trying to find what they'd lost, not having pointless conversations about the Nativity. He didn't hold any stock with superstitious belief systems. He believed in one thing only, and that was the sanctity of money earned by good, if not strictly honest, hard work.

No, belief in things like gods and the redemption of mankind by the birth of a baby centuries ago, was best left to children and the elderly. He was grateful that he'd left such foolish beliefs behind long ago, because, if Andelko's performance this evening was anything to judge by, such things only hindered one's usefulness as an employee.

"Ah, so there is no day which is holy and set apart then? No day which should be kept sacred and separate for celebration, then?" Andelko's voice was wistful as he tilted his head back to look at the sky. "See," he pointed above him, "there's the North Star herself. Look Gregor," he leaned in close to his partner, pointing, "a shooting star." He laughed heartily. "The heavens themselves are celebrating and here we are…" he shook his head, frowning dramatically, "chasing after a wild goose."

Gregor backed away from Andelko, shaking his head incredulously. "What is it you are suggesting Andelko?"

"Come, let's leave this little 'cargo' wherever it is for now and go get a drink." He smiled enigmatically at Gregor.

"No," Gregor shook his head for emphasis, "no, we are not going to go get a drink. We have a job to do and thanks to your incompetence, we have lost our mark. I do not think I need to explain to you what will happen to the both of us, should we let our employer down even on this," he gestured widely at the sky, "holiest of nights."

Andelko sighed. His head was still titled back so that he could look at the sky. "Do you ever wonder why the stars look so much closer on a cold winter's night when they seem so distant on others?"

The stars sparkled brightly on a background of liquid ebony and Andelko smiled. If he but just reached up, surely he'd be able to touch them. There was more to this life than work. He should never have accepted this job on this night. It had been sacrilege and, though he really hadn't been in a position to refuse his employer, he wished that he had simply said, no.

"No, I do not." Gregor shook his head. He would be damned if he was going to be a dead man come Christmas morning because he'd been saddled with a fucking philosopher. He drew his weapon on Andelko. "If you do not stop stargazing, I will kill you."

Andelko laughed from deep within his belly, it was a rich bubbling sound that rang through the night air and echoed around them. "Enta'ksi Gregor," he patted the man on the back, "Lypáme! Please forgive an old man for his eccentricities. You're right, we have a job to do, and the sooner it is done, the sooner we'll be able to call it a night and enjoy what is left of our Christmas."

"We need to call the boss and inform him of this most unfortunate set of circumstances," Gregor insisted and Andelko nodded in acquiesce thinking of how he could spin things in his favor. He knew that Gregor was itching to tattle on him and didn't know how far his own personal loyalty to the Balkan would carry him.

While Gregor conducted his call, Andelko looked once more to the heavens, gathering his coat about himself and sang in a rich, full-bodied voice, "Kalin esperan arhontes, an ine orismos sas, Xristu ti thia yenisi, Na po st' arhontiko sas, Xristos yenate simeron, en vithleem ti poli,I urani aghalonte, Herete i fistis oli." Truly it was a glorious night and the heavens were rejoicing, even if the task he had been called to perform was not to his liking.

"Oh look," he elbowed Gregor, "a Christmas tree." He smiled as he strode toward the lighted tree, marveling at how brightly lit it was against the backdrop of the dark sky. Still, its light did not mask the sky's native keepers of the night.

Gregor, letting out a put upon sigh, reluctantly followed his cohort. When this night was over, he was going to have a stiff drink and mourn the untimely death of his partner.

"Ah! Ha!"

Andelko's bark of laughter startled him and he rushed forward. Andelko stood before the tree, looking at the branches as though completely spellbound. His lips upturned in mirth. The bright lights of the Christmas tree reflected in his dark eyes, making them twinkle like diamonds catching the light.

"What is it you fool?" He grasped Andelko's arm roughly pulling the man round to face him.

Andelko laughed and hugged Gregor before turning away and pointing to the Christmas tree. "Tell me, Gregor, do you believe in Santa?"

"Are you completely out of your mind?" Gregor rounded on the man, aiming his weapon at Andelko's heart. "First you go on about the Savior's birth and now you're asking me about Santa? I'll give the Balkan an early Christmas present by delivering him your crazy head on a platter."

"Gregor, put the weapon away." Andelko sobered considerably, holding his arms out in a gesture of surrender and peace. All traces of laughter and smiling were gone from his face as he attempted to calm a very vexed and put upon Gregor whose finger rested on the trigger of the gun he'd pointed at his heart.

"Come, put the gun down and let me show you what I've found," he spoke softly as though to a frightened animal.

"No," Gregor shook his head. "No more pretty lights and philosophical distractions. This stops here. We've already angered the Balkan and if we don't deliver what he wants, we're both as good as dead anyway. I'm done with listening to your inane babble." His finger twitched and the gun shook slightly. He'd never killed anyone before.

"Look Gregor," Andelko commanded. He didn't take his eyes off of the other man, but gestured toward the tree. "Take a good hard look and tell me that you don't believe in Santa."

In spite of himself, Gregor turned his eyes to look at what Andelko was pointing at beneath the tree. His breath caught in his throat and his heart stopped before resuming a much more rapid pace. He lowered his weapon, drawing in another deep breath.

"See?" Andelko guided Gregor to the tree. "He's left us a present."

Gregor nodded dumbly, unable to believe his eyes. It was a miracle. His life, and unfortunately his partner's life, had been spared.

"I ask you again, Gregor, do you believe in Santa?"

"Ye…s," Gregor agreed inattentively, not taking his eyes off the minor miracle in front of him. The gift wasn't lavishly wrapped, and, until this evening, hadn't even been on his list.

"I told you things would work out." Andelko clapped him on the back and Gregor let the fact that Andelko had promised no such thing slide. There was no use in quibbling over words with the other man.

"Well, help me out with our little present here. Once we deliver it to the boss, we'll be able to get that drink you were talking about." Gregor rubbed his hands together in anticipation, willing to let bygones be bygones.

Maybe they'd even get a bonus being as it was Christmas Eve and all. Not that he was greedy or anything, but every little bit helped and he'd been promising to get his mother a gold necklace for the past couple of Christmases. It would be nice to finally gift her with an appropriate token of his love for her.

They both knelt to the task, cringing as their knees met the cold earth. "Brr," Andelko shivered, shaking the cold off. His fingers gently brushed some of the snow from the icy present lying beneath the tree, lingering a bit to ascertain the status of the gift.

"Here, let me," he offered as they both stood. The present swung awkwardly between them and Andelko winced in sympathy, though their chilled burden didn't protest the jarring movements.

Gregor shrugged and helped Andelko gather their boss' gift in his arms. Andelko took a moment to adjust to the added weight, pulling the freezing bundle close and removing the messenger bag that weighed his burden down considerably. He passed the messenger bag over to Gregor who grudgingly took it, slinging it over his shoulder with a dramatic flourish. There was no doubt in his mind that, were it up to Gregor, the messenger bag would have been left behind.

A sharp intake of air issued from his burden and he smiled down at panicked green eyes. It was an odd gift to be sure, and he didn't understand why the man had let the kid go in the first place, but he was not paid to question the motivations of his employer. Much as he'd enjoyed toying with Gregor and testing his loyalty, things were now down to the wire.

"Shh," he whispered as the boy they'd been tasked to shadow struggled weakly against his hold. The green eyes widened in fear and whistling breath escaped from blue lips as he fought to draw air into his lungs.

"Relax," Andelko ordered in a soothing voice as he carried the shivering young man through the park. Gregor was leading the way and he hoped that the man would have the foresight to lead them to the car. He didn't know how much longer the kid would last exposed to the elements.

His ears, nose and fingers were very close to being frostbitten. His lips, blue and chapped. His eyes were heavily ringed and frost clung to his ashen skin. What Andelko couldn't understand, however, was why the kid couldn't seem to breathe. His chest heaved with the effort it took to draw in one shuddery breath after the next and there was a wet, whistling sound to each breath that he took. Like the kid was drowning in oxygen.

He found himself speaking assurances to the kid. "You're going to be fine. Just breathe. That's it…in and out." He wondered what his boss had planned for the kid, hoping that the kid survived long enough for them to drop him off.

* * *

Translation for the lyrics:

kalin esperan arhontes  
an ine orismos sas,  
Xristu ti thia yenisi  
Na po st' arhontiko sas  
Xristos yenate simeron  
en vithleem ti poli  
I urani aghalonte  
Herete i fistis oli

Good evening noblemen  
If this is your will,  
Christ's holy birth  
May I sing in your noble house  
Christ is being born today  
In the town of Bethlehem  
Heavens rejoice  
All of nature is happy.

Καλήν εσπέραν άρχοντες,  
αν είναι ορισμός σας,  
Χριστού τη Θεία γέννηση,  
να πω στ' αρχοντικό σας.  
Χριστός γεννάται σήμερον,  
εν Βηθλεέμ τη πόλη,  
οι ουρανοί αγάλλονται,  
χαίρεται η φύσις όλη.

To listen to the song, copy and paste this into youtube: Καλήν εσπέραν

Glossary:

Enta'ksi – All right or okay

Lypáme – Sorry; lit. 'I'm saddened' (Λυπάμαι)

Translations found at Omniglot

 


	5. Just Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's all you can do just to breathe.

Spinelli focused on the act of taking in and expelling each labored breath, amazed that it took so much energy to simply breathe. He tried to get his arms up underneath him so that he could crawl away from the tree, but they remained immovable. His logical mind had not shut itself down and was thinking clearly, if not a bit panicked, though his body was now working solely on basic survival instincts alone. He knew that he was having a severe allergic reaction to the pine tree and that he needed to get away from it and to a hospital as soon as possible. Unfortunately, his body was not up to the task.

He was completely at the mercy of Mother Nature as the snow continued to fall and the temperature continued to drop. Though the boughs of the tree protected the upper half of his body, the lower half was exposed to the snow and gathering a soft blanket of it that he was unable to brush off.

His lungs were like lead and it felt as though a killer had placed his hands around his throat and was choking him, closing vise-like fingers around his throat until nothing could get in and out of it save for a mouthful of air at a time. It was excruciatingly painful and Spinelli's eyes watered. He wanted to breathe, that was all, he wasn't asking for much.

You need to move, Stone Cold Cricket's voice was soft, subdued.

I know. Spinelli struggled to make his body cooperate and his head spun with the effort. Dizziness, whirling lights and darkness, assailed him.

He drew a shuddery breath in. It wheezed and whistled past his throat and into his lungs, barely satisfying them. They seized, rejecting the pine resin-heavy air and expelled it with a rasp. Spinelli's fingers scrabbled in the pine-covered snow, seeking to find purchase on the solid ground to help him ride out the next spasm that shook his oxygen deprived body.

Why aren't you moving? His inner Stone Cold demanded to know.

Can't. Thinking was becoming more difficult as his brain was likewise robbed of oxygen.

Can't. Need. Need to. Need to breathe. Need to breathe. Can't. Can't. Can't. Can't breathe. Can't breathe.

Quit crying like a baby and move damn it! The cricket's disembodied words reverberated in Spinelli's mind as the world swam in and out of focus and air whistled past his lips.

His fingers grew numb and his heart sped and slowed, sped and slowed. He concentrated on each breath he managed to pull into his sore lungs. He focused on the aching in his back and chest to help keep him awake. The pull of sleep was almost overwhelming.

He drew in a juddering breath of air, managing to push himself up on his elbows at the same time. He smiled triumphantly and dragged himself closer to the edge of the pine tree, inching toward the outer edge before collapsing in a coughing fit which tore like a dagger at his chest stabbing him over and over again.

Way to go Jackal! Stone Cold Cricket chirped proudly. Come on; get back up, once more, you can do it.

Spinelli waited for the coughing jag to subside, resting his sweat-covered forehead against the cool earth as he drew in shaky breaths which were quickly expelled. He could do this. It might take a while, but, if he could just manage to move a little bit at a time, he'd be able to escape the suffocating confines of the Christmas tree.

He propped himself up on his elbows once more and inched forward. The process was painstakingly slow and he had to stop and rest between each forward movement that he made, but he was making progress. Soon, his head was out from beneath the boughs and he grinned in triumph up at the star bedecked sky.

That's the way! Stone Cold Cricket crowed. You can do it. I have faith in you.

Another hacking cough ransacked his body and his elbows folded, trapping his arms beneath him. The coughing fit ripped through his lungs, made the muscles on his back tight and scored his throat. Snot dripped from his nose and tears ran shamelessly down his cheeks. It hurt. Oh god it hurts.

A fire breathing dragon had taken up residence in his chest. Its razor sharp talons were digging into his throat and back. Its weight was making it impossible to breathe. It shot molten hot lava down his throat and into his lungs, burning them.

 _Get up! Move god damn it!_ Stone Cold Cricket was back to hounding him mercilessly, chastising him for his weakness.

Hell, only the weak succumbed so easily to body malfunctions. He was dealing with faulty merchandise. What _would_ Stone Cold do?

 _WWSD?_ Spinelli could hear the telltale smirk in his Jiminy Cricket's alter-ego's voice. _I can tell you what he wouldn't be doing. He wouldn't be lying there like a baby, letting his body get the best of him. He'd be fighting this, like a man._

Spinelli groaned and bit through his bottom lip as he wriggled forward, moving more of himself out from under the tree. Blood trickled sluggishly from the wound, pooling in his mouth. The coppery tang of it slid down his throat, tickling it. It dribbled on his chin and froze.

His hands were numb with cold, and he could no longer feel his fingers, but still, he moved, using his frozen feet to propel him ahead until he was no longer under the tree at all.

 _Don't you even think about resting_ , the cricket donning Stone Cold's voice barked out like a drill sergeant. _Keep moving._

A paroxysm of coughing besieged him as he labored to follow the pesky cricket's orders. His throat worked against his exertions, forcing him to redouble his attempts to take oxygen in as spots danced across his vision and his lungs demanded compensation for their toil.

The infinitesimal amount of distance he had made from the tree had been costly and rendered him spent and literally without breath. His lungs rebelled as his throat constricted, and for a moment, his heart stopped beating as he failed to take in a single breath of life sustaining oxygen.

 _I'm going to die_. Spinelli wanted to cry, but couldn't even draw enough air into his lungs to do that.

 _No, you're not,_ the cricket grumbled. _Relax and stop fighting your body. It knows what to do. WWSD? He'd let his body take the wheel right now._

 _I'm going to die._ The thought was sobering.

 _Relax, you idiot. How anyone can think you're a genius is beyond me…_ Was there a smidgeon of worry in that voice?

 _I'm going to die._ The thought was grounding him, giving him something to center his thoughts on.

 _You'll die over my dead body._ Stone Cold Cricket's consternation was oddly comforting.

 _I'm going to die_. Spinelli coughed, inched forward and let his head loll to the side as he gasped for air. _I'm going to die because…he panted…of a Christmas tree. Death by Christmas tree._ He choked on a laugh, the icy air stabbing painfully at his lungs.

 _Stop being so maudlin._ The cricket reprimanded.

_Since when does Stone Cold know a word like maudlin?_

_Since you. Since you I know words like maudlin and vivisection and beneficent. No self-respecting hit man should know any of those words, well, except for maybe vivisection. That one has a practical application to it, but maudlin and beneficent…those are all about emotions. Hit men don't do the whole emotional thing. It's maudlin and morbid, not to mention morose._

Spinelli choked on another partial lungful of air as he pictured Stone Cold sticking his tongue out at him after that long-winded dissertation. Definitely not in character for his stern master, what was the world coming to?

Exhausted, Spinelli sobbed onto the snow-covered ground beneath him, accidentally breathing in a pine needle. It stuck on his tongue and he worked it around in his mouth to spit it out, but it refused to be expelled. It jabbed into his cheek, drawing blood. Panting, he lay there, working up the energy to roll over as it occurred to him that digesting more pine needles would not be a good idea.

 _Hope you're satisfied Stone Cold,_ he thought morosely. _Your grasshopper is going to die alone on Christmas Eve because he is allergic to pine trees._

Stone Cold Cricket snorted. _You really think that your mentor would be happy to see you like this? You think he's not back at the penthouse kicking himself for sending you out tonight? And why the hell didn't you go back for your jacket when you noticed it was missing?_ The latter thought was tacked on as Spinelli shivered violently.

_Because I didn't feel like it, and, besides, I was warm at the time._

_Nothing like a little anger…don't you dare contradict me…to warm the cockles of the heart or body,_ the Cricket mused.

 _Tell Stone Cold I'm sorry,_ Spinelli closed his eyes, breath hitching in and out through his inflamed throat.

 _Sorry, no can do. Besides, do you really think you have anything to apologize for? I mean, other than the sneaking around behind his back with Carly?_ The cricket asked.

 _Yeah, tell him I'm sorry for dying without saying goodbye. I didn't say goodbye._ The thought panicked him and his breathing took on a hysterical edge as he realized that his last words to Stone Cold had been muttered in anger beneath his breath.

 _Stop being so melodramatic,_ the cricket groused. _You are not going to die tonight._

 _How do you know that?_ Spinelli turned his head to the side, letting it rest in the snow. He could see the tree, and though he was no longer beneath its decorated boughs, he was still close enough that if he'd been physically able to, he could stretch out his hand and touch it.

 _Because, it's Christmas Eve and I'll be damned if my grasshopper is going to die alone in a park beneath a freaking Martha Stewart Christmas tree wannabe,_ the cricket growled in a very Stone Cold manner.

 _I don't see how you can prevent it from happening. You aren't even real. You're a figment of my overtaxed, under oxygenated imagination. You can't do a thing about it. Face it, I'm going to die. I'll either die from complications due to hypothermia or succumb to asphyxiation as my lungs collapse for lack of oxygen_. Spinelli gasped for air, shuddering as he struggled to make it pass through his mostly closed throat.

 _That was a long-winded speech for someone about to die for lack of oxygen_. Stone Cold's voice wavered as Spinelli's breathing began to even out into painful, hitching hiccups that wracked his thin frame with minute jerking spasms.

Spinelli's eyelids felt heavy and he clutched at the snow with fingers too numb to feel. He gazed with glazed eyes at the blinking lights of the Christmas tree, blinking lethargically. _Pretty lights_. A lullaby stole over him. He strained to hear the angelic voice, but couldn't understand the words. He smiled and closed his eyes, letting go of everything and falling into the warm welcoming embrace of darkness.

 _Jackal? Hey, you still with me kid?_ Stone Cold Cricket reached out a tentative antenna, caressing the fallen boy's face with featherlike touches meant to draw comfort as much as give it. _Come on, wake up, it's cold out here. He tried for humor._

 _You can't sleep right now Spinelli. Wake up._ He prodded the unresponsive boy with a leg, kicking him in the cheek and eyelid with his foreleg. _Spinelli! Spinelli! Wake up little grasshopper. This is not the time for sleeping. You'll catch your death of cold out here._

His eardrums picked up the distinctive lilt of singing and he listened aptly to it, willing whoever was singing to walk in Spinelli's direction. _Hang in there kid. Help is on its way_ , he promised, cheering when the sound of approaching footsteps overtook the singing.

"Tell me, Gregor, do you believe in Santa?"

 _Santa?_ Spinelli stirred.

_Spinelli?_

_Yeah?_ Spinelli attempted to open his eyes.

_You with me?_

_Huh?_ Spinelli pried his eyes open and looked up in confusion into dark, hooded eyes of a man he did not recognize.

 _Help has arrived. Just hang in there a little while longer._ Stone Cold's voice sounded small and far away.

"See?" The man's voice had a comforting timbre to it. "He's left us a present."

_A present? Where?_

_Oh no._ The cricket didn't sound happy. _I don't like the looks of these would be saviors. Spinelli, just hang tight. I'll…er…Stone Cold, the real Stone Cold, will save you._

"Well, help me out with our little present here. Once we deliver it to the boss, we'll be able to get that drink you were talking about." Spinelli didn't like the sound of that man's voice. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Spinelli felt the world shift and he cried out in alarm as he was lifted and he swung precariously in midair.

"Here, let me." The words were spoken quietly and Spinelli was silently grateful that whoever had spoken would be carrying him rather than the other man.

In spite of his resolve to be strong, he whimpered as his lungs and throat burned. He was disoriented and thoroughly confused. Who had him? Where were they taking him? He had the distinct impression that he wasn't being taken to the hospital.

"Shh." He felt the man's breath against the nape of his neck. "Relax; you're going to be fine. Just breathe. That's it…in and out."

Spinelli strove to comply with the man's wishes, desperately wanting everything to be fine. He just wanted to rewind the entire evening and start over.

 _Sorry kid, no do overs this time._ Stone Cold sounded contrite. Spinelli's brow furrowed as a soft, featherlike sensation brushed across his forehead as though his hair was being stroked gingerly by tender fingers.


	6. Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all apologies are necessary.

A loud knock stirred Jason out of his reverie of how best to kill the man sitting next to him using the scant Christmas decorations he'd allowed to adorn the penthouse. Next year they were definitely going to have a bigger tree with some garland and stockings, filled with ammunition and other stuffers suited to a hit man's lifestyle, would be hung by the fireplace.

Think there's a retail store out there that stocks hit men stocking stuffers?

 _It's called "Guns and Ammunition_ ", Jason retorted, thinking of the magazine that Spinelli had thoughtfully purchased for him and placed on his desk.

He'd seen it the minute he'd walked into the penthouse, and though they'd agreed not to get each other Christmas presents, he knew that this was Spinelli's gift to him, along with the gift card to the motorcycle shop around the corner from Kelly's Diner. There'd been no note left, just his name on the gift card in Spinelli's tight script.

"Answer it, but don't make any sudden movements."

Jason was getting tired of this routine. The man's gun hadn't wavered once. He hadn't had an opening to disarm the man and he was worried about his cryptic words concerning Spinelli. He rose from the couch, taking the time to crack his back, ignoring the increased pounding on the door while his captor positioned himself just out of sight.

He cracked open the door when the man nodded his permission and, taking in the unexpected sight before him, flung the door open, surging forward to usher the three men into his home. He wrestled for a full minute with one of the men in an attempt to wrest a very pale, shivering Spinelli from the man's arms.

"Spinelli?" He called in hopes of getting a response from the quiet hacker. "Spinelli, what happened? Are you okay?"

"Back off," a shorter, thick muscled man pushed Jason back into the penthouse, pointing a gun at his chest. "Boss? You here? We've got the package."

"Bring him in here." Jason's captor came out from behind the shadows and gestured for his men to enter the penthouse.

Theo had been expecting some sort of struggle or at least a mild-mannered protest from the young man he'd been keeping tabs on, and was surprised when Andelko entered carrying the boy he'd had Mr. Morgan send away earlier. He motioned for Andelko to bring the boy into the living room and lay him on the couch.

"What happened?" He turned to his men, nodding for Gregor to shut the door and lock it.

"We lost track of him because Andelko was admiring the Christmas lights," Gregor offered gruffly with a slight smile on his lips, no doubt thinking that he would direct his ire at the other man rather than him. He tugged on a strap which wound its way over his shoulder and around his front. He struggled a bit with it before freeing the bag and dropping it carelessly to the floor.

"I see, and how did he come to be in such a poor state?" He kept his gun trained on Morgan, making him stand ineffectually by the staircase.

Gregor shrugged. "Not sure boss. We found him like that, lying in the park next to a big Christmas tree."

"What the hell did you guys do to him?" Jason lunged at the smallest of the three men, reaching for the man's gun.

"Uh uh, I don't think so," Andelko grabbed Jason before he could reach his target and held him back, pressing a gun to his side.

"You really do care about him don't you?" Theo asked.

Jason wanted to knock those round-rimmed glasses off the man's smug face. He struggled with Andelko, prying the man's arms with fingers, stilling when the man's grip merely tightened and the Balkan sat on the coffee table across from Spinelli.

The man laid his gun down next to him, trusting his men to keep Morgan under control. He reached out a hand to brush the fringe of hair off of Spinelli's sweaty brow.

"Don't touch him." Jason rammed an elbow into the man who held him and smiled in grim satisfaction when the man gasped in pain.

Ignoring Morgan, Theo touched Spinelli's cheek, pursing his lips at how cold it was. "What's wrong with him?" Theo looked over at Andelko, doubting that Gregor would know.

"Not sure," Andelko grunted. The man he was attempting to subdue was proving to be quite a match for him, and in other circumstances he might enjoy a good fight, but right now he was tired from carrying the kid from the park. The car hadn't been as close as he'd hoped it would be and he hadn't trusted Gregor not to drop the kid, so he'd carried him the four blocks. "Like Gregor said, we found him this way, lying next to the tree. Like a Christmas present."

Theo shook his head, resting the palm of his hand against Spinelli's forehead. "The boy's cold and clammy." He leaned back, looking at Andelko. "And he's wheezing."

The whistling sound, though much subdued since they'd left the park, was still there. It was clear that the kid was still having a difficult time breathing.

"Asthma?" Andelko offered the only explanation he could think of for the kid's inability to breathe.

"Does your boy suffer from asthma?" Theo turned his thoughtful gaze toward Morgan.

Jason shook his head, momentarily ceasing his struggle against Andelko's hold on him. "No, not that I'm aware of…" Surely Spinelli would have informed him if he had asthma.

_Right, because he's just looking for more ways to show just how much of a disappointment he can be to you. Admitting to a physical weakness would be right up his alley._

_Fuck. If I find out that he has asthma and he didn't tell me…_

_You'll what? Berate him? Make him feel like a worthless, second-class citizen or a freak because he has to use an inhaler to breathe? Jason was really beginning to hate this hard-hitting version of his roommate._

"Hmm," Theo motioned for Andelko to release Morgan. "We need to get him warm."

"But," Gregor looked from his boss to the angry looking man who was now standing at the foot of the couch, he hadn't ventured further because of the weapons still trained on him. "I thought that you said that he was a match?"

Andelko straightened his coat, and stood taller, working out the cricks in his back. He'd rendered his services, albeit a little on the sloppy side, and was ready to take his leave. He worried that Gregor was going to talk himself into rather than out of trouble and motioned for the younger man to be quiet.

"Boss, if you won't be needing anything else, we'll take our leave." He indicated himself and Gregor.

"Andelko, I could use your help further with this matter. Gregor," he gave the younger man a piercing look, "you are dismissed."

"B…but," he sputtered. He'd been in on the loop and now he was being dismissed as though he was a lowly peon. It wasn't fair.

"Yiá sas, Kalá hristúyenna. Your services are no longer needed this evening, please take your leave." Theo looked away from him, studying the boy lying on the couch as though he were a doctor rather than a lawyer.

"Yiá sas, Kalá hristúyenna," he said as he stepped out into the corridor.

What was the man up to? He didn't understand why the man had insisted on having Morgan send the kid away only to have them watch him and retrieve him when he got word from the hospital. It didn't make any sense to him. The kid wouldn't be in the state he was in right now if the Balkan hadn't insisted on sending him out into the cold. Maybe it was a test. Gregor feared he hadn't passed it.

"Morgan." Theo glanced up at the hit man who was coiled like a rattlesnake about ready to strike. "I think your boy could do with some warming up. I'd suggest that you gather some blankets. I'll keep an eye on him until you return. Rest assured that he shall remain unmolested in your absence."

Jason clenched his fists at his side. Inwardly seething, he nodded and raced up the stairs, yanking the comforter and blankets off his bed in a single swift motion, sending the pillows scattering.

"Boss?" Andelko laid his coat on the back of the couch. "What does the kid have to do with your plans?"

"He's Ms. Barrett's baby brother," Theo spoke quietly and quickly, knowing that Morgan would be returning as soon as was humanly possible.

"Pardon me for asking, but, if this is her brother, then why haven't you taken his life in recompense for your son's?"

"It was only just confirmed. He doesn't even know that she's his sister and she doesn't know that he's her brother."

"I see, so, you want to initiate a family reunion and then strike?" Andelko inquired. A small, tight smile contorted his lips as he regarded the young man shivering on the couch. The boy's lips, stained with blood, were still a light blue in color.

"Yes," Theo nodded. "Let them get to know each other as brother and sister and then, when she has grown comfortable, I will pluck out the eye." He made a scooping motion with his fingers and set his lips in a grim line.

He wanted to make sure that Brenda knew what it was that she was losing and she valued the boy as much as he had valued his Aleksander. As much as Mr. Morgan appeared to value the boy. No, he couldn't make his move until Brenda loved her brother so much so that it felt like her own heart was being torn from her body when he died.

Theo smiled down at Spinelli as his eyes fluttered open. "Good to see that you are back with us," he spoke softly so as not to spook the confused boy.

Spinelli squeezed air past his windpipe as he attempted to answer the stranger. Instead of words, a strange, high-pitched whistling sound issued through his lips. He gulped in mouthfuls of air which burned his throat and made his lungs freeze. Hunching forward to ease some of the strain on his aching lungs, he opened and closed his mouth, trying to formulate words and ask where he was.

"Spinelli!" Stone Cold's voice was like a beacon and he swiveled his head in the direction from which the voice had come.

His chest heaved painfully and he felt lightheaded as he tried to return his mentor's greeting. Dizziness overcame him and he fell back onto the cushions of the couch, gasping.

 _Stone Cold_ , he thought. _You're real, not a figment of my imagination._

 _Yeah, he's the real deal. Told you that you weren't going to die and that he'd save you._ The cricket's voice was smug and Spinelli stifled a hysterical bout of laughter.

Jason was suddenly kneeling at his side, wrapping a blanket around his shaking body. "You're okay now," he soothed, placing another blanket over his shivering roommate. "I'm going to get you warmed up and then we're going to get you to the hospital." He completely ignored the presence of the others in the room in favor of tending to Spinelli.

Spinelli nodded his compliance and smiled weakly. Though it was considerably easier to breathe than it had been when he'd been in close proximity to the Christmas tree, he clearly wasn't out of the woods yet if the tightness in his throat and chest was anything to judge by.

He opened his mouth to speak, but a coughing jag stole his breath and he grimaced when unbidden tears wet his cheek from eyes squeezed tightly shut. He ground his teeth and dug at the couch cushions with fingers which felt as though they were being attacked by a multitude of knife-wielding minions from hell.

"Spinelli, what's wrong. Why can't you breathe? Do you have asthma?" Stone Cold's familiar, calm voice broke through the pain and he shook his head.

"So, it's not asthma?" Jason asked for confirmation and was rewarded by another swift shake of Spinelli's head.

"Maybe I can be of some assistance," Theo rolled up his sleeves and knelt next to Morgan.

Andelko kept his gun trained on the hit man, smirking unapologetically as Jason glared at him.

"I think I've got things covered," Jason answered tersely, not trusting Theo.

"We are no closer to finding out why your boy cannot breathe," Theo spoke reasonably.

Spinelli was bewildered as he tried to place where he'd seen the other man before. He couldn't recall the man's name though he felt that he should be able to. Maybe his brain had been deprived of oxygen for far too long, compromising his memory.

That line of thinking caused him to panic and breathing became more difficult. He wheezed and coughed as he struggled to draw air into his lungs. His hands clawed at the air, finding purchase on Jason's black tee-shirt as the man leaned close to him.

"Do you have any Benadryl?" Theo asked. He had draped another blanket over Spinelli and was now working the wet shoes off Spinelli's feet.

"What?" Jason, fully ensconced in Spinelli's panicked grip could only turn his head to the side and glare at the infuriating man who insisted on holding him hostage.

"Benadryl or another antihistamine?" Theo persisted. "I think your boy's suffering from an allergic reaction to something."

Jason turned back to Spinelli, questioning him with his eyes. Spinelli, still clinging to his tee-shirt as though it were a lifeline as he struggled to breath, nodded.

"What is it?" Jason asked his roommate. "What are you allergic to?"

Spinelli's mouth was dry and he attempted to swallow so that he could answer his mentor's question.

"At this point it matters very little what triggered the reaction, we need to counter the inflammation so that he can breathe easier," Theo interjected, recalling a time when Aleksander was just a child and he'd had a reaction to peanuts.

He'd almost lost him that day, but one of the maids had known what to do and had saved his life. Theo was surprised that Mr. Spinelli was still alive, given the severe reaction that he was experiencing. By all rights, he should have died. The kid was made of heartier stock than others gave him credit for.

"I need to get him to the hospital." Jason gently pried Spinelli's fingers from his shirt, maintaining eye contact with the frightened boy; he massaged his friend's thawing fingers.

"You need to get him out of those wet clothes," Andelko commented from his perch on the back of the couch. "He's never going to thaw out otherwise."

Spinelli blushed, making his pale cheeks a rosy red. He looked away from Jason and turned his head toward the couch cushions in embarrassment. He did not want Stone Cold peeling his sodden clothes off of him, let alone doing so in the presence of two strange men.

 _No thank you_ , he thought firmly. _You can just leave my clothes right where they are thank you very much._

 _You know he's right though. You could go into some sort of hypothermic shock. Your body temperature is already much too low and to top it off you sound like an elderly man with emphysema who keeps on smoking to spite lung cancer._ He thought he would be rid of the Stone Cold version of Jiminy Cricket when he'd returned to the penthouse, apparently not.

_I think I'm out of danger of hypothermia. There is no need to divest the Jackal of his outer wear. He will be just fine the way he is._

_Talking to yourself in third person is not a good sign._ The cricket mocked.

_Talking to a pimped up badass version of my mentor as Jiminy Cricket is?_

_It is a vast improvement on the status quo._

_I'm not having this conversation no_ w, Spinelli thought tiredly. _Not with a Stone Cold that uses phrases like status quo while strangers discuss divesting me of my clothing._

A loud knock startled all four of them. Jason's hands had just reached the hem of Spinelli's tee-shirt, his fingers hooked beneath it to pull it up and off his protégé. Getting his roommate dry would hopefully ease the shivers which sporadically assaulted him.

"Answer the door," Theo directed. He placed a silencing finger over Spinelli's swollen lips. Andelko followed Morgan to the door, hiding out of sight.

"Jason? Are you home?"

Jason closed his eyes and drew in a cleansing breath, hoping that the woman on the other side of the door had not gone off on her own as she was wont to do. If she had just a portion of the contingency of bodyguards she was supposed to have, things would be okay. If not, things would get hairy and Spinelli didn't have the time to waste. He needed to be in a hospital where doctors could fix him.

Jason didn't open the door, hoping that she'd think he was out and go away.

"Jason? I can see the light coming from beneath your door."

_Damn._

"Aren't you supposed to be with Sonny?" He called out, not masking his irritation with the foolhardy woman.

"Come on Jason, let me in, I want to wish Spinelli a Merry Christmas," she cajoled.

"Let her in," Theo ordered.

Jason closed his eyes, mastering his anger as Andelko dug the gun into his side, gesturing for him to open the door. He grit his teeth and stood his ground even as Andelko jammed the gun deep into his ribs, bruising them.

"He's not here. Go away." He offered no explanation and did not react when the gun slammed against his ribs.

"Jason, I'm not leaving until I've seen Spinelli."

Where the fuck was Sonny? He was supposed to be taking care of Brenda, not letting her traipse off all over town wishing people a Merry Christmas.

"Why don't you just call and wish him a Merry Christmas?" Jason fisted his hands, grimacing at the pain which shot across his swollen knuckles as he fought Andelko.

"Because I want to see him." He could hear the pout. It remained undiluted by the door. No doubt her bottom lip was actually trembling.

"You're going to have to go to the Metro Court then." Jason elbowed Andelko, knocking the wind out of the man as he reached around him for the door.

"Mr. Morgan," Theo's voice held a note of warning in it, but Jason ignored it and the ensuing gasp which came from Spinelli. "Open the door and let Ms. Barrett in," he ordered and cursed when Morgan refused to comply.

Theo placed a hand over Spinelli's mouth to stifle his cries as he pulled out a stained glass artist's glass cutting knife. "Shh, this will hurt just a bit. I'll give Mr. Morgan another chance to listen to reason. If he does not, I will cut you. Do you understand?"

Spinelli nodded, wide-eyed as the man peeled his damp shirt off of him and then proceeded to pull his sodden jeans off. For a terrifying moment Spinelli feared that the man would divest him of his boxers, but much to his relief, the man simply covered him with the blankets Stone Cold had brought.

"As one of Mr. Morgan's people, it falls upon you to pay for his mistakes. It is part and parcel of the business."

Spinelli shuddered and nodded his understanding. He'd been having a hard time breathing before a hand had been placed over his mouth and a knife pressed to his chest. Now, it was next to impossible for him to take in any oxygen and he was lightheaded.

"Mr. Morgan, let Ms. Barrett in," Theo ordered once more. Jason backed away from the door, refusing to draw the woman into danger.

Theo made a thin cut into Spinelli's chest, just below his clavicle, keeping his hand firmly over the boy's mouth, muffling his weak, voiceless scream.

"Fine. Suit yourself. I'll just leave my gift for him just outside the door then." Brenda's voice wafted through the door.

Jason could hear her tapping her foot impatiently. She still wanted in and was not going to leave until he conceded.

"I told you he's not here!" Jason couldn't help himself from shouting, the woman just got on his nerves.

"Mr. Morgan, I'm warning you," Theo gestured for Andelko to back away a little. It had now become a power play between the two of them and he didn't want Andelko to get in the way, he wanted Jason to understand that he meant business. Unfortunately it would be a painful lesson for his boy.

"I'm sorry," Theo said softly to Spinelli as he made another and then another tiny cut into his flesh. He hardened his heart to the boy's ineffectual struggles as he made several more strokes with the instrument before making a final stroke with the blade. He patted the bloody pattern dry with the comforter which he'd used to cover the now openly sobbing boy.

Jason ignored Theo as he grappled with Andelko and the door. A muffled sob reached his ears, but Jason focused on keeping Andelko from Brenda.

"I was just there Jason. Unless Spinelli's holed up alone in some room under a pseudonym, he's not at the Metro Court."

"Well, I guess I'm mistaken then. I'll make sure he gets the gift. Night." Jason wrestled with Andelko, keeping the man away from the door and Brenda who stood just on the other side of it.

"You know what? Whatever, Jason. Tell Spinelli I'll be back to see him tomorrow."

"Okay," he called through the door, leaning heavily against it as he heard her leave, grateful that she hadn't kept up her tirade. The bruise that was even now forming on his ribcage from Andelko's abuse was worth it.

"You were told to answer the door." Andelko's breath was hot against his neck and Jason pushed backward, creating some space between him and the slightly taller man.

"And I did," Jason answered unapologetically.

Theo laughed. "So you did. Very clever Mr. Morgan. Too bad that Spinelli here had to suffer for your stubbornness and desire to protect Ms. Barrett from me."

Jason paled as he approached the couch. Spinelli's green eyes were wide open and glassy with fear, his lashes wet with tears. His tee-shirt was balled up at the foot of the couch, his jeans lay abandoned on the floor beside Theo.

"What the hell did you do to him?" His eyes raked over the exposed parts of Spinelli's body, releasing a sigh of relief that only Spinelli's chest and arms were visible to the naked eye.

"What you had not yet worked up the nerve to do," the man countered as Jason's eyes lit upon the discarded clothing. "And," he gestured at Spinelli's chest, "a little something to make sure that you do as I ask next time."

Jason knelt next to the couch, locking eyes with Spinelli as he prepared to look at what it was that the Balkan had done to him. "Are you okay?" He asked quietly.

Spinelli meant to nod his head, 'yes', but it seemed to shake itself of its own accord, spilling the tears he'd managed to hold in at his torturer's coaxing. He shook with fear and shame, choking, as his throat, still swollen from his encounter with the Christmas tree, ached with the addition of fresh tears.

Jason saw red. His vision dimmed and blurred as a blind rage consumed him. "What does it mean?"

He whirled on Theo, pressing a blanket to the bleeding message carved onto Spinelli's chest. The letters were from an alphabet he didn't recognize and, though they had been carved neatly, they were jagged and edges of Spinelli's skin had been torn in the process. How he'd been able to remain quiet as the letters had been carved into his flesh was beyond Jason.

Had he known that the bastard had been carving letters into Spinelli while he was trying to protect Brenda, he would have stopped him.

Συγνώμη had been etched just beneath his collarbone in small, precise strokes using a stained glass artist's glass cutting tool. The instrument, its blade still colored ruby with Spinelli's blood, lay on the coffee table between them.

"It says, sygnómi," Theo explained calmly as he stood, wiping his hands off on his black slacks, "which is Greek for, 'Sorry'. And," he squeezed Spinelli's shoulder, looking into his eyes with sincerity, "I truly am sorry, but I had to make a point to your boss and it was clear that I had to do it through you as Mr. Morgan was being less than cooperative at the time. You were very brave and should be proud of yourself."

Spinelli shrunk away from the man as much as the cushions of the couch would allow. He no longer concerned himself with breathing, wanting nothing more than to get away from the hands pressing down on him and the man who'd given him an ad-hoc tattoo.

"The cuts are shallow, but they will scar as the boy has such tender skin," Theo spoke clinically.

Jason focused on breathing through the red as he pressed the fabric of his comforter down on the crudely carved tattoo marring his roommate's chest. His hand reached for the bloodied blade with a will of its own. He grasped the blade, unseeing, and, after giving Spinelli a look of apology, he stood.

He acted swiftly and without remorse, jamming the blade to the hilt in Andelko's side, twisting the man's arm painfully behind him and taking the gun from him in the same movement. Andelko clutched his side and gasped for air. Jason slammed the butt of the gun against his temple, knocking him out and turned, aiming the gun at Theo who stood at Spinelli's head. The man's gun was pressed flush to Spinelli's temple.

Spinelli closed his eyes. He wasn't prepared to die just yet. Strange, he'd been ready for death not an hour ago when he was lying in the park at the mercy of a seemingly innocuous and festively decorated Christmas tree which had proven to be a deadly foe. Somehow facing death at the whim of a man who was clearly crazy seemed far worse than dying by asphyxiation.

 _I don't want to die like this._ He held his breath, not giving into his lungs' demands that he supply them with oxygen.

 _Kid, how many times do I have to tell you that you aren't gonna die tonight?_ Spinelli could see the cricket, dressed in a black leather coat and wearing ridiculously low fitting cowboy boots on his hind legs.

 _Is it still tonight?_ Spinelli wondered. _Is it still Christmas Eve?_

_Ha ha, very funny._

_I'm not trying to be funny._ Spinelli, unable to keep his lungs at bay any longer, gasped for air, gulping and swallowing it as though it were water.

"It appears that we are at an impasse Mr. Morgan. Why don't you lower your weapon and I'll let your boy live?" The unspoken 'for now' was heard loud and clear.

"You move your gun and then I'll consider not killing you," Jason offered what he felt was a very generous offer. "If you hurt Spinelli again, you will be dead before you can blink."

"I see." Theo released the safety on his weapon. "Mr. Spinelli, I had hoped to do things differently. I'd hoped to give you some time to get to know your sister a little before I took your life. In a way, you already know her, just not as your sister. You know her as the fashion model, Brenda Barrett. I had planned to give you both time to enjoy the family connection before ending it, but Mr. Morgan is tipping my hand. I truly am sorry."

_Sister? What? Surely the Divine One is not the Jackal's sister? This is just the ranting of a very deranged man who is about to kill me._

"Do it and you're dead where you stand." Jason promised.

"I would expect nothing less." Theo smiled and closed his eyes, surrendering to his fate.

He'd sacrificed the better part of his years working toward avenging his son's death; there would be nothing left for him once he'd accomplished that goal. He had no desire to grow old and live off of his pension or be shoved into some elderly care facility to live out the remainder of his twilight years. He'd always known that, in the end, he would die and join his son in the afterlife.

The sound of a scuffle in the hallway startled both men, causing them to look toward the door. Jason, his gun still trained on the Balkan, listened for clues as to who might be outside his door, hoping that it was not yet another well-wisher he'd have to scare away. Theo shot Jason a questioning look. Jason shrugged. He wasn't expecting anyone else, hell, he hadn't been expecting the visitors that had come that night.

They waited for a knock, but heard singing instead.

"Here we come a-caroling among the leaves so green; Here we come a wand'ring, So fair to be seen. Love and joy come to you, and to you glad Christmas too, and God bless you and send you a happy new year, and God send you a happy new year."

Jason shook his head as the singing continued. _Christmas carolers_ , he mused dryly.

"We wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Good tidings we bring to you and your kin, good tidings for Christmas and a Happy New Year!"

A loud chorus of, "Merry Christmas!" was followed by what sounded like another scuffle, but was probably the sound of the group making its way down the hallway to spread holiday joy to the next penthouse area.

The tension which had been governing the moment was broken and Theo moved his gun away from Spinelli's temple, resolving to keep his earlier promise to himself in spite of his anger with Mr. Morgan. Jason kept his weapon aimed at the man's head.

"Mr. Morgan, I believe it is time to call it a night," Theo said as he picked up his coat and helped Andelko, who was slowly coming to, to his feet. "Before we both do something we will regret." His gaze flitted briefly to Spinelli and a look of sorrow crossed his features.

"I won't regret this," Jason said as his finger toggled the trigger.

"No, I don't believe that you would, but those carolers just on the other side of that door might hear something and the police might be called and…" He looked meaningfully at Spinelli once more.

"Get out," Jason growled.

Theo smiled and waved as he escorted Andelko out of the door, letting the bigger man lean heavily on him as he regained his bearings.

"Merry Christmas!" Theo called out behind him as the door was slammed in his face. Jason could hear him chuckle as the man walked away. He slammed his fist into the wall, relishing the fresh pain that the act of violence brought him.

Shocked as Stone Cold drew back his fist and struck the wall once again, Spinelli attempted to call out for the man to stop, but all that came out of his mouth was a loud, wheezing gasp as he struggled to breathe. Stone Cold stilled and turned from his self-inflicted punishment.

"Sorry, Spinelli, I lost control."

Spinelli nodded in understanding. His body ached and he wanted to disappear into the cushions of the couch. He just wanted this night to be over.

* * *

Glossary:

Andelko - (AHN dyel ko) form of Angel; Messenger

Efharistó – thank you (Ευχαριστ )

Éla – hello (on phone), inf.( Έλα)

Enta'ksi – All right or okay

Gregor - (greh GUR) form of Gregory; Watcher

Kalá hristúyenna – Merry Christmas (Καλά Χριστούγεννα)

Lypáme – Sorry; lit. 'I'm saddened' (Λυπάμαι)

Sygnómi – sorry (Συγνώμη)

Yiá sas – Goodbye (Γειά σας)


	7. Silent Vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miracles do happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember staying up all night long writing this on Christmas Eve. Labor of love. 
> 
> I know there are errors in this. I am not going to obsess. I did fix one comma issue, though.

Running a hand through his disheveled hair, Jason cursed himself for not killing the Balkan, carolers or no. Now the man would be a thorn in his side and Spinelli wouldn't be safe.

Wasting no time, Jason tucked the gun into his waistband and turned back to Spinelli. "Spinelli?" He knelt down next to his roommate whose eyes were shut tight.

"Spinelli can you hear me?" Jason felt foolish for asking the question and yet he didn't really know what else to say.

Spinelli answered with a tiny nod of his head, dragging air into his demanding lungs with a shudder.

"Good," Jason brushed a lock of hair from Spinelli's forehead. "I'm going to pick you up now."

Spinelli's eyes flew open and he shook his head. He had been stripped, against his will, down to his boxers and didn't want to be carted about wearing so little. He did have some pride and wanted to protect it.

"Do you want me to call an ambulance instead?" Jason asked.

 _No! No! No!_ Spinelli opened his mouth to protest, but couldn't get the words past his swollen throat, though it was considerably less swollen than it had been before.

"Okay, then, I'll have to carry you out to the car. I'll wrap the blankets around you," he promised.

Spinelli nodded his assent, biting his bottom lip and wincing as he reopened the wound and it began to bleed. Jason brushed a thumb over the bloodied lip and wiped away the blood as it beaded.

"It's okay, you're going to be okay now," Jason promised as he picked the younger man up, making sure that the blankets were wrapped securely around him. Spinelli's wheezing breaths came in shallow gasps as Jason carried him out the door and down the hallway toward the elevator. He hoped they didn't encounter any other residents or carolers on their way out of the building.

"I promise that he'll never touch you ever again," he assured Spinelli as the elevator took them down to the parking garage.

Unable to speak, Spinelli nodded, trusting that Jason would keep his word. For the first time that night, he felt safe and knew that it was because of his mentor's presence. If Stone Cold hadn't been there, he didn't know what he would have done, how he would have coped.

"I know this isn't going to be very comfortable," Jason apologized as he tucked Spinelli into the back of the SUV, laying him across the seats in the back and buckling him in so that he wouldn't be thrown off the seats if he had to make a sudden stop. "Sorry."

The letters etched in Spinelli's skin, red and ugly, puffy from the irritation of the blade rending the skin as it created them, popped into Jason's mind and he vowed that he would make sure that the Balkan, Theo, was sorry for what he'd done to Spinelli if he had to carve the word into the arrogant man's brain to make it stick.

 _You'd better._ Inner Spinelli chided.

Spinelli gave him a look that said, "It's okay."

"And," Jason paused before shutting the door, "for what it's worth, I'm sorry about earlier. I…I didn't mean what I said." He didn't look at how Spinelli responded to his apology. It wasn't often that he apologized and he felt uncomfortable; he felt that a man should live by his words, whether good or bad and apologizing for something said or done was a sign of weakness. A man should be taken at face value and live without regrets.

Spinelli smiled, wishing he could apologize for his less than amiable exit from the penthouse earlier that evening. If he had been thinking clearly, he would have realized that something was not right and that his mentor was in danger. He felt remiss for not having picked up on the clues.

 _Jackal, don't even go there._ The cricket rolled his eyes. _Let the man apologize to you and accept the fact that, this time, he was in the wrong, not you._

 _But, the appalling events of this most non-joyous of Christmas Eves, were not Stone Cold's fault,_ Spinelli thought.

_Maybe not all of them, kid, but the majority of them were. If he'd made a couple of different choices, things would not have transpired as they did and you would have had a very Merry Christmas spent outside of the ER…_

"Spinelli?"

_Interrupted by the great man himself._

"You doing okay?"

_Does he really expect you to answer? How the hell does he think you're doing? You can't breathe and you've got some lame Greek word tattooed to your chest. But hey, everything's just peachy._

Spinelli ignored the angry cricket and nodded that he was okay. He caught his mentor's eye in the rear-view mirror and smiled reassuringly. If he could have moved his arms which were tucked securely in the blanket he'd been swaddled in, he would have given the man a thumbs up.

"Good, we're almost there."

The steady movement of the car and the sense of security lulled Spinelli to sleep and he barely registered his transfer from the interior of the SUV to a gurney, waking up only when a doctor began conducting a series of tests on him before administering a shot of pure Nirvana which enabled him to breathe.

It was like waking up in heaven or maybe how a newborn feels when taking in his first lungful of air. He'd never been able to breathe so freely before now. It was a feeling unlike any other and difficult to quantify and he was so tired that he could barely keep his eyes open anyway.

A special blanket promising to elevate his temperature to where it should be was placed on him and, up until then, he hadn't realized just how cold he was because he hadn't had time to think about it. He'd only been able to think about how he was going to draw in that next breath of air and then the one after that, and so on and so forth.

He shivered and swam in and out of consciousness as doctors and nurses asked him questions about what had happened. He answered as best he could, skirting around the truth when it necessitated.

"Uh…it would appear as though the Jackal suffered a severe allergic reaction to the Christmas tree in the center of town." He cast a sideways look at Stone Cold, surprised the man was still there after having gotten his bruised knuckles attended to.

"An allergy to pine resin is most likely the culprit," the doctor, one Spinelli had never seen at General Hospital before, said as he wrote a note on a legal pad. "We'll have you tested for other allergens to be on the safe side."

Spinelli nodded his assent. He wanted to sleep, but the doctor kept asking him questions. Stone Cold sat in a chair next to the gurney and Spinelli drew some comfort from his mentor's close proximity, though he fully expected the man to leave at any moment.

He was doing fine until he was asked about the strange markings beneath his collarbone.

"I…I wanted a cool looking tattoo," he explained. "But I couldn't afford a real one, so I…I had one of my friends do it. Do you think it will last?"

"Well," the doctor shook his head incredulously, "it's already infected and it will definitely scar, so, you'll have scarred tissue rather than a tattoo. I'll put you on antibiotics and give you an antiseptic cream for it. What's it say anyway?"

"Uh…I think it says, at least I wanted it to say: Warrior," Spinelli lied, looking away sheepishly.

He didn't want to tell the doctor the truth about what it really said. People didn't get tattoos that read 'Sorry', no matter how pretty the language made it look. He'd have to look the word up on the internet, see what it looked like outside of his reflection in the mirror.

He felt naked and exposed and close to tears again as the doctor rubbed some cool antiseptic over the abrasions, making them sting.

"That's what it says alright," Stone Cold confirmed, squeezing Spinelli's shoulder reassuringly.

He sucked in a breath and held back his tears, hoping that Stone Cold would stay with him. He didn't want to be alone.

Spinelli lost track of the conversation shortly after that and drifted off to sleep.

He next woke in a mildly comfortable hospital bed, an IV attached to his arm, the sound of music, soft and comforting, coming from a radio in the nurse's station: "Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright…sleep in heavenly peace."

 _Alone again,_ he mused, trying not to feel too disappointed that Stone Cold hadn't stayed to keep him company.

He was safe and could breathe again, those were both pluses. Stone Cold hadn't abandoned him at the onset of his trip to the hospital, but had sat with him through the questioning of the doctors.

_Probably to make sure that I didn't make a mistake and give away something I shouldn't. I really shouldn't have gotten my hopes up, thinking that maybe my mentor would sit vigil with me as I spend Christmas Eve and Morn in the hospital._

_Kid, you really should be careful what you wish for._

_Huh?_

_Turn your head._

Spinelli, confused, and slightly disoriented, a shadow of fear hovering at the edge of his consciousness, turned his head in compliance with his inner Stone Cold cricket's wishes.

Light from the hallway, soft and yellow, spilled into the room through the door's window and fell upon a solitary figure, hunched over in an uncomfortable visitor's chair. The light glinted off the slumbering man's blonde hair, giving him an ethereal halo. The man shifted in his sleep and Spinelli allowed his eyes to close in peaceful slumber once more as he beheld the face of his faithful master.


End file.
